


Touch Me Zee Way I Like, Mr. Zpock, And You May Do Anything Zou Like Wize Me

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Sweet Innocence [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Belly Kink, Bellybutton Sex, Bickering, Biting, Explicit Language, Gossip, Kissing, Licking, M/M, Rough Kissing, Suggestive Themes, Teeth, Tongues, Touching, sensuous, sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: The Enterprise crew notices that Spock and Chekov are together, but have no idea how sensuous  their relationship has become.
Relationships: Pavel Chekov/Spock
Series: Sweet Innocence [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649950
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	Touch Me Zee Way I Like, Mr. Zpock, And You May Do Anything Zou Like Wize Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [J. E. Thorpe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=J.+E.+Thorpe).



“Isn’t it sweet that Spock and Chekov have become such good friends?” Uhura remarked one day at lunch in the day room as she watched them eating together at a nearby table. “I guess that a love of science has brought them together.”

“It had something to do with nature, alright,” Kirk muttered softly to McCoy. “Mother Nature.”

McCoy smirked.

Uhura did not hear Kirk’s aside, but she saw McCoy’s smirk and aimed her hostility at him with a scalding glare. “Do you have a problem with their friendship, Doctor? Or perhaps you are jealous of the time that Mr. Spock spends with someone else. At least the poor man is not a victim of your pointed barbs anymore. Can you blame him? Maybe you should have treated him better and then you would still be enjoying his companionship.” Her dark eyes were still snapping as she attacked her chef salad again. And attack was the right way to describe how her fork speared unwary vegetables and aimed them for her mouth. Her dental work was at risk for injury as she was paying more attention to McCoy than where her fork tines were landing in her mouth.

“What?! What did I do?!” McCoy demanded about her sudden attack.

Kirk’s eyes were fairly dancing as he shoveled food into his mouth. “Glad she’s on our team, Bones?”

“I think she could probably teach sitting hens a thing or two about defense,” McCoy grumbled as he decided to examine his luncheon closely. “Spock should be glad that she isn’t his mother. The poor man wouldn’t ever be able to draw a deep breath for all of her smothering.”

“Are you making a snide remark about me, Doctor?” Uhura wanted to know as she leaned toward him.

“Me?” McCoy asked innocently. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He rolled his eyes at Kirk.

Kirk tried to wipe the smirk off his face, but his eyes were still twinkling. “Nyota and I have the best seats on the Bridge to watch Spock showing Chekov all sorts of intricacies involving his scanner. Why, they talk mathematical equations for hours. It’s like they forget that the rest of us are even there.”

McCoy wanted to make a remark, glanced at Uhura, and thought better of it.

“Aye, and they do the same thing in Engineering,” Scotty added.

“They do?” Kirk want to know.

“Aye,” Scotty continued. “I guess it all goes back to when Chekov was shadowing me. I guess now he’s decided to teach Spock what he knows. They must be having a fair exchange of information.”

“That’s not all they’re exchanging,” Kirk muttered softly.

McCoy sputtered and gave Kirk a look that clearly spoke of the injustice of what was happening. If McCoy had said anything so snide about Spock and Chekov, Uhura would’ve taken him to task for his crudeness. As it was, Kirk seemed to be a golden child who could say or do nothing wrong.

Kirk’s eyes danced merrily at McCoy. They seemed to be saying, ‘She likes me best!’

McCoy just rolled his eyes and looked aside in disgust.

“At least they weren’t talking science or mathematics when I came across them,” Sulu interjected and he didn't seem too happy about what he was reporting. “Oh, of course, they said that it was in the interest of science that they were looking at the stars for scientific purposes so intently. But I know that’s not the only thing that the observatory is used for.” 

Sulu sounded almost bitter, and the others noted it.

“You helped them,” Kirk reminded Sulu. “You wanted this to happen.”

“So did you,” Sulu challenged.

“I know,” Kirk acknowledged wistfully. “I guess we succeeded too well, and we miss our friends. Let’s just be happy for them, okay?”

Sulu returned the wistful smile and finally nodded in agreement.

Then Kirk changed the subject because they all needed to be moving on. If Spock and Chekov were going to be involved with each other, their friends had to let them. 

Because that’s the way Life is.

But their friends were still going to be missing them.

“We have zo much to talk about,” Pavel noted as he and Spock lounged together in Spock’s quarters.

“I know. And not enough time allotted in order to say it.”

Chekov nodded slightly. There was still a certain amount of awkwardness about them as a couple, but they were getting better.

They each felt the sadness from their friends, though. Surprisingly, the sadness was sharpest at the times when their friends were with them. A new order in the relationship among all of them had shifted, and they were all acutely aware of it. 

In time, Spock and Chekov would gravitate back to their friends, because a couple cannot be all things to each other. They would need time away from each other for their relationship to stay fresh and vital. That was the healthy way to do things. And it would sharpen an anticipation for when they could be together again.

For one cannot come home again until he has first left it.

But right now, they had eyes only for each other, and that was how they wanted it to be for awhile. After all, it was still their honeymoon period, and they were not cheating themselves out of anything along this exciting pathway of learning to be comfortable together. 

Such as now. They were doing one of their favorite pastimes that did not involve mind-numbing sex: learning to know each other through the sense of touch.

For at this moment, Chekov was stretched out on Spock’s bed. He was nude, except for a small towel draped low over his genitals. They had found that it added an element of mystery for them to be partially covered before commencing intimacy. Spock, for his part, had a larger towel arranged across his lap. He hoped that Chekov could not see the slight movements under the towel or realize that Spock's interest had already been stirred by Chekov's state of undress.

Spock was sitting on the side of the bed and was looking toward Chekov’s head. He liked Chekov’s positioning with his hands and arms thrown above his head as if he was shackled there and was incapable of defending himself. Spock would never harm him, but he understood that Chekov liked the illusion of being defenseless. There is a great power in that, for Chekov knew that he was making Spock be good to him.

Chekov was one long, slim offering as he lay there displayed in all of his youthful glory. All of that supple, soft skin was such a delight for Spock to run his hands over. Chekov tried to take deep, long breaths that would not betray his enjoyment. But his fluttering heart under Spock’s hands were telling Spock all about the sexual desire that Spock was raising in him. Chekov's hooded eyes were watching Spock’s every move, hoping that Spock was enjoying the offering spread before him of a supple young body that was his to manipulate and to enjoy however he wished.

Spock slid his open palms down Chekov’s chest, especially across his nipples, and down either side of Chekov’s rib cage. At the waist, Spock’s hands traveled wide and followed Chekov's pelvis on the outside until reaching the hip joints. Then the hands made a dramatic run together, ruffling the top of the hand towel low on Chekov's belly and meeting together at the pubis, nearly touching Chekov’s excited penis. In fact, the backs of Spock’s thumbs were slightly grazing it.

As nice as that had all been, though, Chekov grunted in annoyance.

“You did not touch my belly! You are teazing me!” he complained crossly. “You know that iz my favorite zpot to be touched!”

“But it is not my favorite spot to touch YOU,” Spock retaliated with a look of slyness on his face that he had never shown to anyone except Chekov. “In fact, it is only about tenth on a list that includes your button toes and the soft inside of your inner forearms. Oh, do not get me started,” he said with sudden emotion shaking his voice, “or your tummy might not ever get any of the attentions that it so richly deserves. I might find that I will become intoxicated by the heady essences of your exotic body way before I have properly appreciated them,” he confessed with a sigh. “And I do intend to minister to your body as intimately and as thoroughly as I am able for as long as I am able. Because you truly inspire me and you enable me to perform feats that only the angels have dreamed about even daring.”

“You are an old lecher,” Chekov mumbled as he raised and lowered his head several times as if he was trying to find a comfortable spot for it. He was seething with an anger that he rarely let himself feel. Generally he had to work so hard to make himself understood because of his thick accent that he had to bank his anger. But not now. Not with Spock. For Spock understood what it was to suppress emotion so that greater things could be accomplished. And now Chekov was free to be himself. Spock had given him that freedom, and Chekov enjoyed that release.

Chekov also enjoyed the randiness that he could create in Spock. That gave Chekov a power over Spock, a sexual power that was mighty in its strength. Women understood this power, but knew it as men’s obsession with women’s fur-covered circle between their legs. Chekov had a similar circle between his legs that fascinated Spock, and Chekov allowed Spock access to that sacred site because it brought pleasure to both of them. But Chekov never forgot that he was the possessor of that circle and therefore that made him an equal in their relationship. 

That power was maturing Chekov and making him a social equal on the Enterprise crew. His knowledge and intelligence had made him an intellectual equal of them, but his young age had always demoted him before. Not now. This sexual experience was turning him into an adult. Chekov might lose some of his naivete, and a sense of sadness might settle over Chekov for his loss of innocence. But all things must end, and a physical relationship was erasing the rest of Chekov’s adolescence. 

But neither one was really thinking of that at the moment. Chekov’s neglected belly was causing a minor rift between the lovers whose relationship was so new that they were still trying to establish the perimeters of it.

Spock loved it when the youngster got worked up and told him off. This new type of assertive behavior was so different that Spock enjoyed forcing it into life so that he could watch it blossom into action and, more importantly for Spock, into a reaction.

“I know that you are a sensualist who likes to be touched,” Spock admitted with a self-conscious grin. “I love teasing you by denying you. You are so cute when you are demanding something for your own pleasure.”

“And you are terrible to be denying me!”

Spock arched an eyebrow. “It makes you appreciate me for what I can do for you.”

“Then do it!” Chekov demanded. “And you zhould be feeling guilty for being so callouz! For that, you will need to be eztra loving to my belly!” Chekov decreed.

“My pleasure.” Spock lifted his right hand and used just the fingertips to run up Chekov’s middle.

Chekov closed his eyes and relaxed with a visible sigh. That was more like it! A smile curved along his lips as he awaited Spock’s next manipulations.

He did not have to wait long, but it was not what he was expecting.

Spock blew his breath all over Chekov’s exposed belly.

Chekov trembled and Spock smiled. And then his hand settled on that warm, elastic flesh, and he marveled at the trail of goose bumps that appeared wherever his trailing fingers touched.

Chekov lay back and smiled happily as those magic fingers continued to explore him.

Spock marveled at the flatness of Chekov’s torso. Chekov was so young and so slender that no ugly pockets of fat had been deposited yet. Everything was so smooth, except where plumpness was intended to be add beauty to the overall picture of an unclothed youth.

The pressure of Spock’s fingers gradually increased as Spock pressed more firmly against the tender flesh. He loved to watch his probing fingers indent the skin. It was almost a way for him to enter the living body and interrelate with the bodily processes of blood flowing and of food utilization that were continuously occurring. 

Chekov apparently loved it, too, because he sighed and turned his head to rub his face against his up-raised arm. His body was Spock’s to handle and to manipulate as he wished and saw fit, but that did not mean that Chekov was going to deny receiving the pleasures of all of that touching and probing. Far from it. Chekov was indeed a sensualist and he intended to savor every sensuous moment that he was accorded.

Spock shaped his hands into claws and ran them up and down, then across Chekov’s belly in both directions. When the skin was nicely abraded into crisscrosses and reddened, it felt roughened and worried as if a teething puppy had been scraping over it. Spock's scratching was aggravating, but strangely stimulating, too. And it certainly made Chekov very aware of his whole area from his chest down to where that censoring hand towel lay just above his pubis. Chekov was beginning to wish that Spock would remove that towel and minister to his stirring penis. It was aching to be touched and recognized.

Spock pinched belly skin between two fingers and raised it up to examine it. Chekov wondered what Spock would do next with the captured flesh, but knew he would enjoy it. Spock did not disappoint.

Spock daintily replaced his teeth where his two fingers had been. He applied pressure and Chekov gasp. Spock could easily bite into the flesh hard enough to leave marks and maybe even hard enough to cause injury. But Chekov trusted that Spock would not do anything to destroy enjoyment by being too rough.

As Spock’s suckled on the pinch of belly skin, slobbers eventually ran down and found new trails over Chekov’s exposed flesh. One such trail flowed over the hip joint, over the buttock, and down Chekov’s backside to leave a path of cooling spit. But another moist river scurried down Chekov’s tummy, under the hand towel over his pubis, and found the hidden valley where the leg is attached to Chekov’s body. From there, the moisture built up speed as it approached that most sacred spot of all on him, the place where Spock would eventually enter to make them both feel alive. It was not a matter of if, but when. 

For that hidden sacred spot was Spock’s ultimate goal, and both he and Chekov knew it. But that did not mean that they would not tease each other on their way to it. That was part of the enjoyment-- the teasing. And the anticipation. And they were both anticipating by now quite nicely. But it was still not the right time. They were still enjoying the foreplay too much.

Spock’s teeth and tongue released the pinch of belly skin with a gentle plop, and it settled back into its usual spot, just a little wetter and redder than normal.

But Spock and Chekov had forgotten it already, because Spock’s lips were bestowing moist, wallowing kisses all over Chekov’s belly. Chekov’s breath hitched and he swung a hand up to grip Spock’s naked shoulder, to encourage him and to guide him.

Spock’s tongue left wet slime trails as if a snail had been crawling over Chekov’s nakedness. And just when Chekov thought that he could not stand to have that rasping tongue touching him anymore or feel all of Spock’s saliva drying and cooling on his skin, Spock plunged that penetrating tongue into Chekov’s navel.

Sensation shot through the young Russian, for Spock's tongue in Chekov's navel was just a hint of what would flare through Chekov when Spock used his swollen member to penetrate into the center of Chekov's living body and shove aside Chekov's organs in order to possess him completely.

Chekov gasped and his fingers dug into Spock’s shoulder. That only encouraged Spock to work his tongue deeper into Chekov’s navel.

Chekov sobbed and used his hands to tear at his face and his hair. Spasms of emotions were radiating out from that primitive connection to his mother all over his aching body. The navel was the soul of his being, almost as important as the soul which resided just above his ear. But he loved that Spock had sought him out in his naval, for it was almost like entering his body.

But there was another spot for literally entering his body, and it was aching now with its own primitive need to be possessed.

But it was not time for that. Not yet. Not. Quite. Yet.

But it would come. And for now, this probing of the belly button would suffice.

Quite nicely.

Very nicely indeed.

“Do you like me to touch you there?” Spock wanted to know as he raised his head and showed a face that was disfigured with slobbers running down both sides of his mouth.

“No talk!” Chekov moaned. “Touch me!”

Spock bent and obeyed, but not before a grin of victory swept his face. This young man was his, and they both knew it. As long as Spock had his magic tongue and mouth and hands and other magic areas on him, he could do whatever he wanted with Chekov. Because it was what Chekov wanted, too.

As Spock’s tongue jabbed into Chekov’s navel harder and faster in response to Chekov's moans, his stiffened fingertips massaged and pressed into thankful areas all over Chekov’s belly. Wherever he touched was perfect. Whatever he touched was grateful.

When Chekov was writhing with desperate want, Spock gently slipped aside the towel over Chekov’s penis and touched his lips against the side of the excited member and slid his moistened tongue lightly over it.

Chekov screamed.

Spock raised up on his elbows.

“You will have me now?”

Chekov stared up at him with hooded eyes and gasping breath. “Youz devil! Why do you need to azk?! You know that I am yourz!”

“Yes, I am. But I just needed to hear you begging for it,” Spock murmured and reached up to claim Chekov’s lips. He kissed with lips that only moments before had been on Chekov’s penis.

Chekov knew that and sobbed. That softened his mouth and left it defenseless.

Spock gave that tender mouth no mercy. He plunged his tongue inside and wallowed Chekov’s tongue.

Spock’s tongue that only moments before had been in Chekov’s belly button and on Chekov’s penis.

Chekov could not deny it. He opened his mouth further for whatever Spock had planned for it. He hoped that it was huge and hot and throbbing and demanding.

And doing it that way was tempting. Spock had to admit that. But he was still a backdoor man, especially with this one. Because this backdoor was still so tight and unused as others generally were.

Spock rolled Chekov over on his belly, that belly that had been so thoroughly teased and violated, pulled the slender legs apart to expose that feverish cave awaiting for him there so innocently, spit into it, and then plunged his engorged penis into it with nothing more than Mother Nature’s lube and a know-how that went back to the start of awareness for creatures that had crawled out of the primal ooze and had looked up in wonder at their new home.

Chekov screwed his eyes shut to keep from screaming. It was not pain, but sexual feeling that tore at him. Let the Vulcan batter away at him. Chekov was enjoying every violent moment of it.

For Chekov was being fulfilled. 

And that thoroughly satisfied him.

And brought peace to the lusty Vulcan working so hard over him.

The Primal Beast had been quelled in two lucky, sated souls for now, and the universe realigned itself once again at their climaxes.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
